Secrets In The Night
by Nocturna Canis Lupis
Summary: From a secret ceremony, dreams are granted to the cursed, and through them, Jager finds his way to the side of a beautiful fiery redhead, whose infamous name may cause her more trouble than her pride is worth. Better summary found inside. Revised.
1. Prologue

Summary: Jozelyn is a daughter of the Scars, a line of Vampire Hunters, that used to be more powerful and famous than even the great Vida line. But she is the last, her whole family killed by revenge-hungry vampires. When she is changed by the moody and mysterious Jager, she vows that she will regain her mortality, and take her revenge from him, along the rest of his leech brethren. But as she will soon find out, her changing is not the only problem she will face. A darker, deadlier force is brewing, involving the Vampire and the Werewolf hunters, as well as their "prey". Jozelyn will find out secrets that were best left hidden in the cloak of night, and yet even more, concerning those that she once hunted.

_Prologue_

_England, 2004_

Vampires on one page, werewolves on the other. Each some of the most powerful, and feared of their kind. Leeches and monsters, were all they were to Jozelyn. She skipped the monsters, and began to trail her bright red fingernail down a list of names and aliases. "The Jackal," she whispered to herself. Yes, he was one of the old ones. But not the one she was looking for. "The Tigress," was a new one..."The Demon," she paused. The vampire she was looking for had an alias like that. But no. This one's real name was Aubrey. She continued down the list until she came to one of the last names. "The Devil." The name that Jozelyn's own ancestor had given. And for good reason. He was the ancient enemy of the Scar line, a devil, _the Devil_, by any other name. He had showed himself to Catara Scar, killed in front of her, tainted her with his filthy kiss, and came back, twenty years later, to murder her in his trademark method, in front of two other Scars. Her daughters. Jozelyn fought down her anger at the memory, and trailed the painted nail over to read the last reported killing identified as his work, and the last sighting. Over four centuries ago. Great. What's to say another family got to him? What's to say he's not just dead from his own kind? She stiffened. What's to say he's not out there right now, stalking the last Scar to put an end to the line? A pale hand on her shoulder made her leap from her chair. She didn't even bring any weapons! How could she be so stupid? She sighed, the fear fading from her eyes and face. She shook herself to slow her heart rate and to filter the adrenaline from her body.

"Madam Orana, you startled me." she said.

"I apologize Jozelyn, but it is past closing time. I did not want to send you away after dark, but..." she gestured at the name in the book. "He is something all Scars have the right to hunt. I did not wish to disturb your research."

Jozelyn nodded, the thought of no weapons and darkness outside making her jumpy again. "Thank you, Madam." She was lucky that the librarian had kept the library open this long. The tomes here were written especially for the extermination of the scum of the night. Any dark creature would love to get ahold of Madam Orana, and set a bonfire to all of these beautiful books.

And as such, it was without offence that Jozelyn stepped out of the building only to have the door slammed behind her, a series of heavy clicks following suite as many locks slid into place. Suppressing a shiver, she opened her arms to organize her research. She'd checked out the book of names and biographies, and stuffed her notes in the book to mark the page that she'd been reading. As she tried to save the papers from being permanently crushed or dog-eared, the sleeve of her red sweater rode up to expose a curious tattoo on the inside of her forearm. It was the crest of the Scars, a terrible black panther, baring its fangs and lunging from the backdrop of a shield, a Latin inscription curling decadently in an arch at the top, and the beast's blood red heart exposed on its muscled chest. Flames erupted from its source, somewhere inside the shield, and they glittered as the pulse underneath the skin there beat strongly. Jozelyn cherished the mark, which was infused with magic ink, and had graced the forearms of her family for centuries, that panther representing the evil that Scars hunted. But the black panther was her favorite animal, and she had redeemed its symbolism by taking it on as her own personal signature. Though it wasn't even that that was reason Jozelyn loved her magic brand. It was the eyes of the black creature, which were a sparkling, jewel-like emerald green, that had always prided her. It was a work of art on her very body. Pulling the sleeve back over her arm, she set off from the front stoop of the library.

At first, she merely mulled over what she currently knew about "the Devil". His real name was Dimitri, and it was the name that he was born to as a mortal. She knew how he killed, and who he killed. She knew he was once one of the most feared of his kind, and his name was known across France, which was his homeland. But where had he gone? Why had he disappeared? And why did the last few sightings of him consist of two other unknown vampires? She gritted her teeth at the vital questions. If only she could find the answer. Killing him would avenge countless Scars, and their failed attempts at finding him and their own revenge. And maybe even her parents...though no. There was no possible way that he could have been there that night. Someone would have seen him...there were witnesses. The sound of a step behind her made her jump. Silently cursing herself for a sign of weakness, she turned to see who it was; only to find no one there. That didn't help her nerves.

She gripped the book tighter and slowly turned around. _Keep calm, keep calm_, she began repeating to herself, beginning a silent mantra. She put one foot out hesitantly, testing its sound, listening for a second swoosh of misplaced air in sync with it that would tell her someone was following her. Her red and black shoes hit the pavement, making an almost inaudible tap. Silence hung heavy. She began walking again, slowly, her ears strained against the sounds of her own movement. There were the footsteps again; out of sync now, but surely and quickly falling in step. Good thing she wore her running shoes. With skipping motion, Jozelyn's careful gait became a break-neck run. Jozelyn could hear them for sure now. Steps exactly matching hers, stride for stride. She ran, faster, faster, and surely she could have lost them by now. But then, she had already concluded inside herself before the chase began. She wasn't being followed by a human.

She suddenly came to a stop, faster than she had even started running. Jozelyn turned immediately, whispering a few choice words. She was new at this spell, and cursed herself for not remembering it. In fact, she wished she hadn't needed it in the first place. Biting her lip as she searched the darkness, a dagger appeared in her hand. Bright red sparks drifted down from it, creating an eerie glow until they snuffed out on the earth. From the frayed sleeve of her sweater, the glimmer of a silver shield shone phosphorescent in the dark. "Face me now..." she challenged the dark, words sounding ethereal as she spoke them in Latin, her favorite language. She was eager to test her new blade. She had spelled it herself, and wanted very much to witness the results.

A figure appeared from the shadows, his head down. Dark brown locks of hair hung, swaying gently from his lowered head. The shadows played across his dark skin, and Jozelyn shivered despite herself. There was just something about him...She gasped aloud when he raised his head in a purposeful snap, bordering on melodrama. Though the man pulled it off. His face was young, appearing eighteen, and handsome. But none of that concerned Jozelyn at the moment. It was his eyes that had captivated her. Reflective and shimmering, they glinted surreally in the moonlight, just like a cat's. They were emerald green. _Like a panther's...like...my panther's!_

They were illusions! They had to be! No one had the right to bare those eyes, especially not a leech like him! She turned, her leg flying out in a practiced roundhouse kick, finding him somewhere, but Jozelyn did not see. She was off in a flash, dagger tight in her hand, book in her arm. At least it's not Dimitri, she thought. She forgot to listen for him running, and as she was tensing to turn and fight, a hand flashed out of the nearest alleyway and pulled her in. She muffled a shriek as she began to struggle, her book falling to the ground forgotten, and her dagger catching nonexistent light. He was strong, she noted grimly.

"Unhand me!" she yelled, using Latin once more. It was her best learned language besides English. He did not strengthen his grip nor slacken it, and her wrists began to ache and burn from her struggle. Jozelyn stilled for just a moment and glared. That did the trick. His hold on her loosened just a bit, and she took that moment to break the hand with her dagger in it free. Her blade sliced at his shoulder, which was bare from his shirt. The wound was deep, and blood immediately began to spill from it liberally. But Jozelyn had a secret smile for what happened next. The blood erupted in flame. The vampire hissed, his canines appearing wicked in the trickle of light in the alley. His illusioned eyes flashed violently for a moment, and Jozelyn readied herself for him to attack. But the arm that was burning flashed out, his hand gripping her wrist once more. The blade fell to the ground, spelled silver tinkling on the concrete. Jozelyn winced at the idea of her beloved dagger on the filth and grime that carpeted the alleyway. His other hand gripped her other wrist tighter, pressing it against the bricks against her back, and pinning her more thoroughly to the wall. The vampire looked at the flame that was burning quite merrily on his arm, and it went out. His flesh was scarred, and the wound was still bleeding easily, but he didn't seem to notice. The anger was gone from his eyes, and the snarl and flashing canines were hidden. The face that he directed at Jozelyn was...regretful?

"What do you want?" she asked. This vampire was seriously freaking her out, to use the modern phrase lightly.

He ignored her, his eyes searching her face. She could almost feel them, caressing...she couldn't understand why he was doing this. He leaned closer, still searching. She could feel his breath on her skin, and it made her shiver again. For the first time, she was getting frightened.

"This is my duty..." he said, voice a soft whisper. It calmed her, though she could sense no spell in his voice. He moved his head into her neck, and his lips caressed her throat. She gasped. Was that...a kiss? _Kill him! _her mind suddenly screamed, _Don't let him do this!_ But she was frozen in her spot. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she bit her lip. Why? Why is he doing this? Why can't she do anything to stop it? ...Why doesn't she want to? She tensed his lips soft on her slightly tanned skin. Could he be so powerful, that he was controlling her without her even knowing? She relaxed again. It was impossible...But just as quickly as she had succumbed to his strangeness, his fangs penetrated her jugular. Then, she did scream. She did struggle, for all she was worth. He dropped her wrists and took grip on her waist, not tight as to be uncomfortable, but so that there was no escape. Her hands flailed and her legs kicked. She twisted her neck, she did anything. Now she knew why he had allowed her to fight so. She knew his intentions. She almost broke lose once, and he pushed her into the wall gently, so that his body pressed against hers. She had no room to move, and the closeness of him made her lose her breath. The pain was overwhelming, and she whimpered, even though she kept fighting. She was losing..."Please..." she choked out, shining tears gathering in her eyes. No Scar in the history of the line had ever been changed. What an end to her great family if she was to become one of their immortal enemies. What a disgrace…The Scars would end with her. Tears fell in glistening rivulets down her face. "Please..." she sobbed. She still struggled, but she was growing weaker. She didn't see the vampire's face contort in pain. He loosened his grip at last. Jozelyn hadn't the strength to break lose and run. With shame heavy in her slowing heart, she fell into darkness with one last thought. She'd failed.

_ "They're dead, Jozelyn..._

_"They killed them...in cold blood_

_"You will avenge them..._

_"Or die in shame..."_

Jozelyn awoke gradually, the dark dream echoing in her head. She recognized it as her Aunt's voice, and the words some that she had tried for years to forget. What luck, that when she finally succeeded, she dreamed them, and the pain of that day came flooding back. The pain of the day her parent's had been found in a London square, bodies drained dry, hideous wounds gracing every inch of their being. With a shake of her head though, the thoughts vanished, as dreams and unwanted memories are wont to do, especially so early in the morning. She yawned and stretched, instantly regretting spending all night at the library, hunched over books.

The library. Everything came flooding back. Her panther's eyes. A deceptive touch. Veins penetrated, her blood draining. With unbearable pain, she recalled tears and failure. "No..." she whispered aloud, and didn't make a move to get up. _Why?_ she screamed inside herself, knowing that by that failure, she had shamed the Scars further. _Just die_, she willed herself. _You're not one of them yet. Die! Die! _She held back her tears. She'd never felt so angry at herself, that she could be soiled by her crying in front of that leech...As she lay, wallowing in her own self-pity, a scent came to her nose. Her face relaxed as she breathed it in. Roses... For the first time since she woke, she actually began to feel comfortable. She loved roses.

Now that she thought of it, she was surprised that she had even considered the bed to be her own. It was many times softer than hers, which were practically boards with a mat over them. She moved her hand across the surface of it. Silk. And...velvet? No...She grasped a small object, soft and smooth, and vaguely living. She opened her eyes to look at it. It was a fiery red rose petal. Her favorite color...her favorite flower...even her favorite material. How could he know that? Jozelyn slowly sat up. The whole bed was covered in them...A fine auburn eyebrow rose up as she drunk in the sight. The bed was dressed in black, and the rose petals were spread all over it. In fact, they had even drifted to the middle of the bed, to settle around her form. She tore her gaze away from the bed to the rest of the room. The walls were painted black...the carpet was black...even the vanity on the other side of the room was black. She scowled. Jozelyn hated solid black with a passion. She put her feet on the floor, and was glad to see she was still in her old garments, ratty red sweater and faded jeans not exactly flattering, but working in her favor. Standing up, she balled her hands into fists. The room was making her feel claustrophobic. She walked over to the door, which was, of course, black. Jiggling the doorknob she knew was locked, she backed up. With a bracing of muscles, she aimed a powerful kick at the door. It didn't budge. So, she assumed with annoyance, it had to be spelled.

She rubbed her arm in thought, also casting a surveying look around the room. There just might be something that could help her get out of here. The vanity had nothing on it, and as she tried the drawer, found there was nothing in it as well. There was nothing on the bed, nothing under it. There were no windows, and nothing on the walls, though how she could see in this utter blankness was temporarily beyond her still whirling mind. She did find a black vase on a small table beside the bed, but as there were no flowers, or anything else for that matter, inside of it, she didn't pay much attention. Needless to say, she'd found nothing. With a sighed curse, she sat down on the bed, glowering at the petals, and even trying to hold her breath to keep from smelling them. In any other situation, she would have loved to awake in a bed of roses, softer than any she had ever even dreamed of. What young girl didn't, witch or no? But right now, she knew that she must be every bit the Huntress she was. The weakness that she'd showed in the alleyway was erased, and she didn't intend to succumb to it again.

After a few moments, she got bored. He wasn't going to come back into the room by her just staring at the door. She got up and moved toward it. Raising both hands, she began to pound on the enchanted wood. "Where are you?" she yelled, using Latin. Maybe she could trick him into thinking that was the only language she knew. "Come face me, you leech!" she added, though she figured that he'd already faced her, and won. She frowned. What else could she say to bait him? As she found she could think of nothing, she pounded a few more times for good measure, and turned away from the door. She hadn't enough energy to summon her dagger, but maybe she could break the vanity mirror, and use it as a weapon. Should she get a long enough shard, it would be easy to get it through his heart. But as she moved toward the vanity, something caught her eye. The vase beside the bed was empty before, or so she thought. But now, a single long stemmed rose rested silently against its rim. Jozelyn paused, and squinted. That rose...it couldn't be black could it? There was a legend of black roses, which could only be grown by a vampire, but Jozelyn had never seen one, and so had never believed the stories. Surly, she had to have been right. This flower was just a deep red...

"They are the symbols of vampirism." said a voice. "Black roses...or so they've said."

Jozelyn spun, flinging another of her trademark kicks in the direction that the voice had come from. All she saw was a blur, and the tip of her shoe caught wall. She recovered quickly, and turned to face him. Those same eyes weren't glittering now, at least, from the lack of light in the room, and his dark skin almost had him invisible in the blackness. With a scowl, Jozelyn stared him down. He raised a dark eyebrow, and looked away. So he didn't want to play that game...strange. For a vampire, at least.

"Are you alright now?" he asked.

_The nerve_..."What do you think?" Jozelyn snapped.

The vampire tilted his head, a strange superior look crossing his face before he snuffed it out. "So you do speak English?" he asked.

Jozelyn cursed herself inwardly. She'd forgotten to speak in Latin. With resolve, she refused to answer his question. He shrugged, trying to act as if it didn't bother him, and he had expected as much. Jozelyn would have thought she'd seen some sadness there, but, as she believed the creatures to be unable to feel such emotions, she didn't. He sighed, twisting his hand in the air, so that with a crack, a small, round cup appeared in his hand. He swirled the contents, looking at it for a moment, and then handed it to her. Jozelyn took it, still eyeing the vampire for any threatening moves. She glanced into the glass and saw a dark, thick red liquid. With a sneer, she deliberately dropped it. The glass bounced silently on the carpet, and the blood spilled out to stain the black darker than it already was. The vampire frowned deeply. Jozelyn wondered if he had actually expected anything else.

"We could do this the easy way, Jozelyn. Or the hard way." he said.

Jozelyn laughed, a loud harsh sound. "Do you know nothing of my family?" she asked, contempt and ridicule powerful in her voice. "Do I dare ask how old you are, to be so foolish?"

His emerald eyes darkened. "You don't. And as for your family, I care nothing for the Scars. As I care nothing for the dead."

Jozelyn would never admit how that one comment cut her, and as her brain processed it, she didn't notice the look of regret that passed over the vampire's face. With another twist of his hand, the glass disappeared from the floor, and a small knife appeared in thin air. He caught it gracefully, his movements calm and calculated like a cats. Or a panther's. The handle of the knife was made of the same silver metal that the blade was, and out of her so slight haze, she saw him slit his wrist. She took a step back as he moved forward. He paused.

"You don't feel it do you?" he asked.

"What?" Jozelyn shook the haze away. She didn't understand what had come over her.

"Your impending death, Jozelyn. This is your only option of survival, for the loss of blood is killing you."

"Liar. I feel fine."

He shook his head. "You feel that way because your mind is shielding you." He laughed. "You hunters thought it was a strength, that in battle, a spell should protect you from feeling pain, or weakness. But as long as that spell is in power, you never know how close you are to death until it is already too late."

"Such stories." Jozelyn replied, watching the wound that had been dripping blood heal over.

"Yes. Such stories. But if you doubt them, test it for yourself."

The young English huntress did not trust him for all he was worth. But she had also learned never to trust her Aunt when the woman had taught her about the spells that had been cast to make the Scars more efficient hunters. She had a knack for making them sound more harmless than they were.

"How do you know so much about me?" She found herself asking instead.

He smiled. He had a very charming smile. "Let's save that for another time."

With a scowl, Jozelyn relaxed her muscles. She cleared her mind of any threats or fighting techniques, which was something she'd done very few times in her life. She could feel the built up power slowly draining away, and as it did, it was replaced by a biting cold. Jozelyn found herself shivering, and soon, gasping. It hurt to draw breath and her head began to pound. As her legs gave way, she knew he had to have tricked her somehow. But before she hit the ground, she found herself in the vampire's arms. She tried to squirm away, disgusted by the closeness. The closeness she had been enchanted by only hours before.

"Do you believe me now?" he asked, locking her gaze.

She answered by gasping. She'd lost all the strength that she'd thought she'd had. Was she really this close to dying?

"Please. I can save you...All you have to do--"

Jozelyn shook her head. "I'll kill myself." she said.

"No. You won't." He brought the knife over to his wrist and cut it again.

_I can't_, Jozelyn thought. _I have to make this choice. I can't do this_.

"Please. Just live, and then you can do whatever you decide."

_I'll survive...I'll find a way to get my mortality back...then I'll kill this leech, like the Vampire Hunter I am...I'm suppose to be._

She licked her lips and settled them over his wound. She caught his eyes flutter, almost in pleasure, and it made Jozelyn cringe. His blood was bittersweet, tainted with death and magic. At first it made her retch, but she forced her self to keep drinking. She realized that the cold was leaving her, and as it did, she began to get light-headed.

"That's it..." whispered the vampire. He held her gently, his wrist settled softly over her lips, so that she could stop anytime she wanted. But she couldn't. As his blood filled her, she lost all sense of reason. For a moment, her family, her revenge, her mortality, nothing seemed to matter. Only this wrist and the dark fluid that filled her. His face faded, and the black in front of her eyes started to spin. She wasn't sure whether it was the color of the room, or her nearing unconsciousness. Her eyes slid closed, and as he removed his wrist, she blindly clutched at it. She couldn't see, but that single action made him frown deeply. He lifted her and settled her on the bed. She acknowledged the sweet scent of roses before she was lost to nothingness.

When she came to, the first thing she saw was the vampire sitting on the edge of the bed. She jerked instinctively away from him, and was startled by the crunching noises. She glanced around and saw that the rose petals were all dead. For a moment, she was mesmerized by the way they had changed. From velvet and bright red, to shriveled and sickly brown. With a glance at her new sire, she wondered if the change might have spilled over. When before he had been somewhat...sensitive, if the word could be used to describe a vampire. But now, as she studied his face, she saw that his demeanor was more...subdued. Grim, even.

"You need to feed." he said, standing up and moving across the room. Jozelyn watched in annoyance as he fingered the petals of the black rose, which had survived where the red petals had not. Talk about mood swings. He turned to her, the top part of his face the only part of him she could see. She looked behind her and saw that the solid black wall from earlier now had an open window. With black curtains, of course. She turned back to him, about to ask what the deal with this room was, but something was so different about his face, that she decided not to say anything. Moonlight that streamed in from the window somewhat increased the darkness of the shadows in the room, and when it caught his eyes, they reflected so brightly that Jozelyn really didn't want to look at them. They reminded her of a wild animal, and she finally understood why her ancestors chose one to represent his kind.

"I have rules for that," Jozelyn said in answer to his statement.

"Really..." he moved, so that the lights that were his eyes went out.

"Yes. No witches and no civilians." She couldn't handle the thought of him making her feed on one of her kindred. Or anybody else, for that matter, but she had survived thus far, and she might as well continue.

He stepped forward, so that she could see his face clearly. He smirked. "Agreed." he said, and before Jozelyn could react, he had her by the arm and the room began to drift away to mist. The mist faded back into another room, this one concrete and dark. Jozelyn jerked her arm out of the vampire's grasp. His eyes were glowing again. He was unnerving; she had to give him that. She soon wrinkled her nose, as the smell of alcohol and vomit registered in her brain. Looking around, she saw that they were in a prison cell. A local one at that. What she smelled was the pick-ups from the local pubs.

"What--" she began, but he waved her off. She looked to the corner, and saw a man huddled there, staring at them curiously. He obviously hadn't seen how they arrived, but he just as obviously didn't care. In his drunken mind he saw a way of escape, never mind that ever so slight possibility they were policemen. He stood up and with a slurred cry, he rushed at Jozelyn. She scowled at him, ready to bat him away like a fly, but her sire was there in a flash, hand gripping the human's arm so tight he cried out. Jozelyn heard something crack. The vampire leaned forward and whispered in the man's ear. "_Sleep_," and the man fell limp. He tossed him to her like a rag doll and Jozelyn grunted and she caught him.

"What are you getting at?" she snapped. He didn't have to break the man's arm.

"Feed." was all he said, as he leaned against the stone wall and crossed his arms and legs. He looked so casual that Jozelyn gaped for a moment.

"I said no civilians." she snapped.

"He's not."

"He's just a drunk. That's not grounds enough to kill him."

The vampire smiled again. "Feed," he repeated.

Jozelyn glared a moment longer. "Who are you?" she blurted out.

That smile again. "I am Jager."

The Jackal, flashed through Jozelyn's mind. Still shaken up from that, she turned to the sleeping body in her arms. The smell from him was horrible, and she was almost unsure of what to do. She'd seen vampires feeding, but never actually tried it herself. Which was a good thing, she considered. She threw back the man's head and stared that the throbbing pulse in his throat. It was then that Jozelyn had her first case of bloodlust. The vampires had dubbed it "The Scarlet Desire" and as it ripped through her mind, she understood every bit of its suggestive name. She felt her canines lengthening into sharp fangs, and before she could consider the exact location of the jugular, she had already bitten into it, and the man's life blood flowed sweetly into her mouth. Images flashed across her eyes, young women screaming, begging, dying, bleeding. The man was a rapist and a murderer...unconsciously, she began chewing on the wound she'd made, making it bigger, blood flowing faster and thicker into her hungry mouth. Jager eased himself off the wall, worry beginning to creep itself into his cold expression. His trained ears heard the man's heart slow and stop. Yet Jozelyn still clung to him, chewing and begging more blood to flow into her. Jager moved forward to and eased the man out of her arms. The ex-huntress growled hopelessly, bloodlust still fiery on her mind, but slowly fading.

"He's done, Jozelyn. Let him go."

Jozelyn started, dropping the man to the floor. A cold fear slivered into her heart, like a poisonous slimy creature, and she began to tremble. Her eyes swept over the body, cold and lifeless, with a terrible red wound on his neck. Jager gave her a concerned look before bending down and slicing his throat all the way across with a knife that had appeared out of nothing, as they were apt to do around him.

"Calm down," he said, standing up. "It's nothing. Most lose control on their first feed. Now come on..." he eased his hand out, seeing if she wanted to resist. Her mind still felt numb, and she couldn't stop shaking. She reached out herself and clutched Jager's shoulder. She wanted more than anything to get out of this cell. He was surprised, and more so concerned, but he nonetheless transported them back to her room. He eased away from her and began to walk out of the room.

"Wait..." her voice called out hesitantly. He did stop, but he didn't remove his hand from the knob.

"I..." now that she'd stopped him, she couldn't think of anything to say. She could smell her own fear, a sour sweet scent that she knew filled his senses too. Knew by the way he was tensed and distant, as if her fear aroused him. She wanted Jager to stay, to explain to her that the next time would be different, that she wasn't a monster. But the knowledge that he was came drifting back to her, and all words froze on her tongue.

"We leave tomorrow for America. I'll take you." he said, breaking the silence. He was out the door with it closing behind him before his words found Jozelyn. She stared, because as he'd closed the door, the window had disappeared, reminding her of the mysteries she'd failed to solve. She fumbled her way to the door, still unused to the night vision that vampires possessed. She pounded on the door.

"Come back!" she cried. "Jager...please...come back." her voice faded off into the darkness as she fell back onto the bed. With hopeless sobs, she let tears fall that she didn't knew she had.


	2. Beginning To Look Like Fate

_Chapter 1_

_**Beginning To Look Like Fate**_

_New Mayhem, America 2004_

Jager sighed, unwilling to close his eyes, should he lose the image that graced his vision. She was asleep, her tinted skin, already pale compared to the tan it was in life, glowing softly as the moonlight streamed down on her through the window. Her dark auburn lashes cast shadows on her high, smooth cheekbones, making her more and less the semblance of an angel in Jager's eyes. She was utterly still, her dreams black, and her breath dead in her lungs. But the one thing, Jager guessed, that made her all the more beautiful in her sleep, was that she was _quiet_.

He'd known that Scars were long-winded, liable to bore a vampire out of his mind before striking the killing blow, but not until he'd spent time with one had he really known the truth of the stories. He waited a moment, savoring the absence of her harsh ridiculing comments, before he began to hunger for the undercurrent that pulsed through the New Mayhem air. It took a slight strain of his ears, before the thrumming bass of dance music permeated his vampiric hearing. Las Noches was several blocks away, but on nights like this, its call could be heard all through the village, like a swift, exited heartbeat, of which the undead craved. Sometimes Jager wondered if that was why vampires were so fond of the nightclub. A chance to have a heartbeat again? To feel it reverberating through their bodies, like a living pulse? To maybe, for one simple night, be alive, in drink, in dance, to flirt like mortals, flashing fanged smiles, and witty remarks, only to kill their dates after the pleasantries were finished? Jager smiled. From experience...the answers were all yes.

He stood, slowly, and as quietly as he could. The slightest noise could wake his sleeping creation, as her hearing was twice as good as most younger vampires. Not only did she have Jager's blood working in her favor, but still swirling through her body, was the strong, undying blood of a Scar. The scent surrounded her, making it impossible to deny the fact that this creature, vampire though it was, was very much an ex-vampire hunter. Jager could only hope none of the more powerful of his kindred found themselves in New Mayhem alongside her. It's been five years, but the intoxicating scent of a quarry's blood never truly left a vampire's memory. Especially quarry as infamous as Symia Scar and her softhearted shadow of a husband Orpheus Velvet.

Jager made his way through the door, and outside into the streets of New Mayhem. Walking idly, even humming some ancient lullaby under his breath, he turned his gaze to the heavens. The moon was full this night, and its harsh silver light burned across the dark ground, and Jager's own African tinted skin. Its rays were harshly powerful, casting their own lunar spells that were millennia old, beyond the memory of living creatures, and beyond the comprehension of even the oldest magic-users. Human sight couldn't possibly be able to see the moonlight as powerfully as the undead and the cursed, for mortals were too often blind to the magic that the Earth itself wove into its tapestry. Jager himself was an atheist, sometimes playing religion into his games of the time, but never truly believing in any one deity. The only real thing he grasped was that the Earth had her own games she played, and the laws of nature rivaled the religious commandments of any one belief. He played by his own rules, yes, but he followed guidelines, set down by the uncontrollable forces of nature...which were chaotic in their own design.

At least, he followed them most of the time.

It was a law of nature that emotions got in the way. The only way to keep things running smoothly is to only look at the opposite sex as certain form of reproduction. Love was needless complication. Love got in the way. Love was a sin. And Jager himself had been damned within an inch of his immortal life.

Kaei, the Hawaiian beauty that stole his black little heart with extravagant flowers blooming from the sheet of silky black hair that fell down her gently curving back, was only one of the many that had gotten him into trouble. His eyes were dangerous to catch, as well as the beauty that caught them. In the end, Kaei burned down the ageless village of Mayhem, the hidden vampire haven. And before her...there was Fala, who's captured Jager's heart with far less innocence than Kaei had displayed, even before she torched Mayhem. She, with her raven hair, the color and texture of the Egyptian princesses themselves. She, with deep, black-brown eyes, always alight with some mischief. At the time of her changing, Jager had seen a soul mate. Now, all that remained was the vain vampiress she'd become, a dark, jealous creature, always so sure that her vampirism protected her from anything, and everything, as well as the famous sire she bore, never once considering that not all vampires fear Jager's wrath, or especially her so called power. She was clueless to the fact that she wasn't nearly as invincible as she believed herself to be. Fala was a mistake, and Kaei was as well. There had been numerous others, so many in fact, that he had earned himself a record reminiscent of Silver himself, who was the source of his line's affinity. Or curse. This fact wasn't a good thing.

You would have thought that this reputation would have taught him a lesson on falling for mortals, but no. He just had to chase after those broken images, that fiery hair, those copper eyes, the blood that caked her blade at all hours of the night. He just had to let his heart, dead as it was, be vulnerable to another. To allow one pretty face to change everything that he had worked hard to become...It had seemed so absurd...the last Scar, the forbidden child that escaped the thirst of the vampire underworld, who was still hunted and feared today, five years after Jozelyn's parents met their gruesome demise, could influence him as none of the others ever had. That she could barely exist in reality, and still the shadow of fear that was her existence could down their numbers by the dozens nightly...But there she was, despite his hopes, safe and sound in England, bathing the streets in immortal blood, and spreading her own dark tide of retribution for her being made an orphan. Jager himself, who danced in fairy rings, and played his games of magic with Wiccans that were mockeries of the witches of his ancient Egypt, who bore the name of the Trickster, who was the Jackal incarnated in vampiric form...had fallen for the most taboo of mortal infatuations. He had done the unthinkable, and brought not only his own weakness into the stark light of vampire society, but exposed the hidden legend of the last Scar. Jozelyn was no longer a figment of vampiric paranoia. She was real, and in their reaches. Jager, who had angered many because of his careless nature, and extraordinary power, could be easily subdued. Destroying his temptation could thoroughly break him. It was two birds with one stone.

Jager stopped midstride. He had reached the end of the path where the black rosebush grew. He'd walked strait past Las Noches while occupied by his thoughts. He muttered a quiet, yet unfrustrated curse under his breath. Maybe he didn't need a night of Las Noches. Maybe all he needed was a night to sort through his troubles, and to overcome the mood that Jozelyn had put him in…Besides, a hunt was much better for his stress than bottled blood from the bar. He sighed, filling his dead lungs with oxygen that would never reach the magic-rich blood that flowed through his veins. The air was alive with the smells of a full moon. Supernatural creatures roamed the shadows, in search of their own prey, and the prey, unaware, made their own oblivious ways through the darkness, enchanted by the spell that such a silver-soaked night cast.

Jozelyn awoke with a start, confused from the transition of dreaming in total darkness to waking up in it. Her eyes adjusted, supernatural sight filtering in light and magic so that Jozelyn could see as well, if not infinitely better, than she could if it was day. Her first thought was that she would have to complain to Jager about the dismal impersonal decor of his house. Not only was the vampire's home eerily clean, but it was also so Spartan in it's interior design, that Jozelyn was under the constant impression that she was in a museum. Hung upon the walls were slightly unsettling, if not beautiful paintings, of Egyptian culture and religion. Throughout the rest of the house, gorgeous portraits of the wild animals of Africa stared hungrily at passerby, creating the atmosphere of being hunted, which was ironic, considering what the owner of the house was. Jozelyn sighed, rising from the couch to tinker with Jager's collection of gold Egyptian artifacts, which glittered in the moonlight above the dead fireplace. She was going over exactly what she could say to the leech when he chose to show himself when she realized that he would have been by her side when she awoke, had he actually been inside the house. Which meant that her undead host was missing in action.

The red-haired huntress blinked in annoyance and turned her now black eyes toward the wide, open window that was faced toward the paved streets of New Mayhem. In the dark, blue-violet sky, a heavy, white-hot full moon glared down on the vampiric city, almost mocking the fact that Jozelyn was now officially part of her black dominion, the shadowed, chaotic stretches of otherworldly reign that was the night. Jozelyn could sense traces of Jager's aura, which had departed the museum-like house not too long ago. Jozelyn scowled and stepped outside.

The streets hummed with the suppressed mischief that the night of a full moon held, and Jozelyn knew that within the moon shadow, creatures that she was familiar with (and those she wasn't) roamed in search of their own agendas. Not willing to cause trouble in this awkward magic-propelled body, but still all too ready for a fight, Jozelyn crept away from the house, tilting her head for the sound or smell of anything that could lead her to her wayward sire. It wasn't that she wished to find him because she missed him. On the contrary. She wanted to give him a piece of her mind for leaving her in his creepy house all by herself. Just looking at the fragments of Egyptian past put Jozelyn in the mind of ancient curses, and rather gory embalming processes. Symia Scar may not have approved of Jozelyn missing training for school, but the days that she had attended had given her an almost permanent repulsion of ancient Egypt culture.

Suddenly, she caught the sounds of heavy footsteps rushing down the pavement. Whatever was coming this way, it was in a hurry to do so. Jozelyn recoiled into the shadows, which was easier than ever thanks to her new vampire body. She squinted in the direction of the footsteps, hoping to see the walker before it reached her hiding place. A young man materialized from the haze of the night, wearing a simple gray muscle shirt and dark blue jeans. His features were soft, boyish, and his eyes and hair were a striking tawny brown. He looked so strangely familiar, that Jozelyn almost left her hiding place in order to get a better look at him.

He stopped his frantic walk and tilted his head back, breathing deeply. Jozelyn figured he was picking up some scent. She shivered. She hadn't yet learned how to mask her own scent. With resolution, she mimicked his movement. If he were to pick up on her, she might as well know exactly what he was...

And he wasn't a vampire. As Jozelyn sorted through her memory, she was surprised to find...that this man smelled like a witch. But not any vampire-hunter line that she knew of...He smelled like her father.

The man smiled wickedly, and for a moment, Jozelyn thought that he had picked up on her own scent, but he merely faced forward and continued on his way, steps quick and balanced, carrying past her and away before she could even shrink away in fear of discovery. After he had disappeared, Jozelyn stepped from her shadow and stared in the direction he had gone. It was the same direction that Jager had left, according to his trail. Without fully knowing what she was doing, Jozelyn began to follow him.

The young woman was blonde, with large, expressive dark blue eyes. Her body was full, curvaceous, so sensually exquisite that even the dead would find her arousing. Which Jager did, of course. He was male, after all. But the first thought that ran through his head was "She's nothing like Jozelyn..." So, she became his dinner. Oh, and what a feast that was. Her fresh, sweet blood, running over his tongue, and down his throat, washed away every disturbing thought that had occupied his find up until now.

As he let her drop to the forest floor, he took a moment to savor the life that her blood had held. Then, licking his lips, he turned to her sleeping boyfriend. They had been in the middle of...well, he believed the correct phrase for this day and age was "making out", when he arrived, so with a quick command, he'd sent both young lovers into slumber.

He was currently trying to decide whether or not he should let the boy go, when he heard movement behind him. The movement of someone who could easily be much quieter but chose to let their quarry know of their presence. Without an indication that he'd heard, Jager walked over the boy and ran his hands through his silky, pale blonde hair. He tilted the boy's head, listening once more, and upon hearing no one, decided to continue his game to draw whoever it was out of hiding. In a fluid, slow, almost loving movement, he buried his head in his prey's neck.

It took a few moments for the ruse to work, but it wasn't long before a tawny-haired man appeared from the forest and crept almost silently toward the apparently feeding vampire. In a flash of fangs, Jager erupted from his prey and had the man by the throat, held several inches off the ground.

His expression softened, and he smiled sarcastically at the young man. "They send guys like you to jail, you know." He said. Nonchalantly, Jager glanced at the boy and girl lying side by side behind him, one dead, one in an enchanted slumber. "You can rent movies for this kind of stuff."

"Witty." Said the man cockily, giving a cheeky smirk to the vampire even while his face turned a pale shade of blue. "Somewhat of Jozelyn's type I suppose." Jager returned the smirk with a disgusted sneer, and dropped him. Much to his annoyance, the man landed on his feet.

"You are Jager, right? The sire…of the last Scar?"

Jager growled in answer, the very thing he'd been dreading playing out before his eyes. "Why do you ask?" he said, trying to play a little of his own cockiness into the banter. But the mention of Jozelyn had thrown him thoroughly off, and his usual carelessness was draining.

"Because, my good vampire." He said, a hint of British accent playing on his words. "If you are…you've stolen property, which is rightfully mine."

"Since when does a Scar woman, rightfully belong to anyone besides themselves?"

"Since they all died out, and the little wench found herself in the arms of a Triste, instead of her own blood." He said, all lightly stated and accented, but venom tinting each word. Jager sneered at him again, feeling dangerously on edge.

"You shouldn't call a vampiress a wench in front of her sire." He said, baring razor canines threateningly. "It's hazardous to your health." On the last word Jager lunged toward this newcomer, sinking those fangs deep into the soft flesh of his throat. With a wet tearing sound, Jager began to pull back, intending very nearly sever the man's head, when he hissed in pain. An electronic jolt coursed through his body, thousands of years dead. Far from being able to regain life again, the shock still created a pulse through his limbs, and it left Jager thoroughly shocked.

"It's funny," commented the man as he stepped away from the traumatized vampire, wiping the blood from the wound on his neck, though he looked as if it did not pain him. "That no vampire hunter has thought to use this devise." He held up a small stun gun and waved it at his attacker. "As little as it aids us werewolf hunters, it does wonders on you vampires." He pocketed the electrical weapon and leaned against the tree, almost as if he was waiting for Jager to recover.

As he did, Jager growled malevolently, clutching his chest where the electric shock had done the most damage. "Say your peace, Velvet, for you have already broken one law tonight, as I shall when you're done." His voice was strained and all the modernization in his voice was gone.

"Oh, Jager, you already have. So much blood yet unpaid by the Scars to your kind. Jozelyn's undeath has been a betrayal to your brethren, vampire. She, who has killed countless in her few years….she, who hales from one of the most notorious hunters in your world. Why Jager, your own fledglings would kill you in a moment, if just to be rid of that little red-headed whore."

Despite the effects of the stun gun having yet to ware off, Jager growled weakly at the man's description of Jozelyn. "I'll kill you…" he managed, sounding weaker and less threatening than he would ever have, if the topic was not Jozelyn Scar.

"I suspect you could try…you might even succeed. But once I get your precious little Scar, not even you could lay a finger on me." The man leaned forward, cockily trusting Jager not to attack him. It only annoyed Jager more that he could not. "You have no idea the power she holds. Her blood…why, it's the most powerful mixture of lines in the history of the witches turned hunters. And once I have it, Jager, once I have every last drop, spilled from her lovely, gaping, throat, then I will be a force to be reckoned with, bowed down to by vermin, by the lines, by all of humanity!" A small amount of spittle glittered ominously on his lips, adding punctuation to the vehemence of his words…despite the almost frightening madness they were spoken in, Jager found himself slightly apprehensive.

After his rant, the man stared into space for several minutes, the maniacal and more than a little demented look in his eyes burning brightly. Jager found that he himself was staring at him with genuine amazement. This man could be one of the craziest people, dead or alive, that he'd ever met, just from his aura. And that was saying something…a few thousand years of living tended to make a person more out of their mind than the average rabid bear.

"You're mad." Jager voiced his opinion, an almost appraising look on his face.

The stranger laughed in response. "No." he said. "I am Leonius Velvet, and soon to be the most powerful hunter there ever was. Do you understand?"

Jager glared instead of responding. "Linus," or whatever his name was, got on Jager's last nerve.

"Good. Now…you're going to play a very important part in my little plan…" His eyes glittered again, insanity fiery in their tawny depths. "You're going to deliver her to me…along with another, more difficult to obtain, component of my spell."

Jager was sure of it. The man was out of his mind. "Like hell I am." He said, so quietly and venomously, that there was doubt that there was anything Leonius could do to change his mind.

"Yes. Exactly like hell you are. As the damned, you damn others, and I am the devil you shall deliver them to…"

Jager stared incredulously.

With a laugh, Leonius was gone, leaving Jager furious and confused. A leaf crumpled underfoot a few feet from him, and he spun around snarling to behold none other than Jozelyn, as innocent as her nature would allow her to look, and obviously every bit as confused as Jager was. She had heard a good deal of the conversation between Jager and Leonius, and the latter's knowledge and opinion of her was startling. Not only that, but what he'd said was the most offense that anyone had ever dared grant Jozelyn besides, of course, Symia Scar and the Triste Appolonia, her so called "Aunt".

"What do you know of that man?" demanded Jager, his emerald eyes fading to black in his distress.

It took Jozelyn a moment to break away from her stare into Jager's eyes to actually answer his question, and when she did, she was indignant. "I've never seen him…" She trailed off, for she had seen him somewhere before, but she couldn't recall where. She could, however, recall who he reminded her of…Orpheus Velvet wasn't the kind of man who's striking tawny eyes and hair was easily forgotten.

"That's impossible! He bears your father's name!" Jager yelled, so close to her that her ears rang from his voice, and her senses reeled from the blood on his breath. She hadn't fed since the night before, and though she'd hoped that the lust had left her, it still lingered, deep inside her. Her taste for blood was strong, and it did more than dampen her plans of never draining another human being. It made her nearly forget them.

"I know…" Jozelyn replied, puzzled by that fact. "But it doesn't change that I don't know him." She sneered, the first characteristic that she'd displayed that was like the Jozelyn she was but a few hours ago. "What, do you not trust my word?" She asked in pure sarcasm.

"I do." Jager answered, staring at her in the same way he'd done when he'd changed her. He turned away from her for a moment and closed his eyes.

Jozelyn was at a loss for words.

When Jager turned back to her, his eyes were panther emerald again. She blinked, confused once more by his strange antics. He'd acted so different…so _vampiric_ when he'd faced Leonius, and here he was, the same big puppy that she'd taken him for in London. Was he that way with her only?

"I must go now, Jozelyn, but I can't leave you on your own. Return to New Mayhem, and find a vampiress, by the name of Risika. Tell her who your sire is, and ask her aid in helping you find Acara, a friend of mine. But you must ask nicely, for she is often in a dark mood, and won't look twice at you before killing you with a blink, should you disrespect her. She is powerful, despite being young."

"What?" Jozelyn said impulsively, having trouble taking in everything that he'd said…For he'd said it very fast.

"She'll be easy to find, for she is also known as the Tigress, and the reason will be obvious once you see her."

"But where are you going? Who's Acara?"

"I've told you already. Acara is a friend, and I can trust her not to kill you, at least until I return." He smirked ruefully. "She'll want to know where I am, so tell her the truth."

"But that's my question!" Jozelyn yelled, becoming impatient. "Where are you going?"

"To hunt." He replied, and disappeared before her eyes.

Jozelyn cursed to the darkness where he had been. "Damn you Jager…" She whispered. Suddenly, she was distracted by a quiet moaning sound. She turned to see a very handsome young man shaking himself out of a vampiric sleep, his throat bared so tantalizingly that Jozelyn could feel her canines lengthening in the desire for his blood. She turned and walked quickly away.

By the time she had reached New Mayhem, she had called Jager every unsavory name that she knew, and even some that she didn't. Now that her sire had disappeared, she was in an even greater dilemma. She still had no clue of how to control her undead body's magic. Vampires could teleport, fight with their mind, even read others' and protect their own. These were necessities for basic vampire survival, Jozelyn knew that much. But as for mastering them, she had depended on Jager for that.

But with him gone off to hunt the mysterious werewolf hunter, he had officiously, and royally, screwed up her plans.

She had originally intended to gain power, and the proper knowledge of how to use her current body, to leave Jager behind and search for the truth behind the American witch that had restored mortality to a child-bearing vampiress. The stories went that the witch had died in the process of the spell. But if Jozelyn could find a way around the death of one of her fellow witches, she could become human again, even more powerful and wise than she was before, and hunt down Jager to exact her revenge.

So could she trust this new vampire to train her, and then not stand in her way as she became mortal again? And who exactly was this Acara? The name was unfamiliar to her, and Jozelyn had taken a sort of pleasure and pride in the fact that she was well educated in the names and aliases of all of the more powerful vampires. So what was she to do now? Go to this Risika, a powerful vampire, yet with so little was known about her, and ask her way to Jager's Acara? What would that do her plans?

With a huffed sigh, and not a clue as to why she was doing this, Jozelyn set off toward Las Noches, and her first meeting with the Tigress.

Risika had never discarded her stripes, nor the golden eyes of her tiger form, since that fateful night with Aubrey. The mirrors of Las Noches still bore the spider-web cracks that the two of them had dealt during their squabble that had forever freed her from his oppression. They were bitter-sweet memories, and as she looked upon them, reminiscence soon consumed her as it was apt to do. Tora's cage had been filled with a younger, more vibrant and lively tiger, whose spirit wasn't made for the cage that he'd been sentenced to. He related to Risika , in the way that they both wished to be free of the loneliness that their fates had dealt them. Though the battle that night had freed her of both Aubrey, and her brother's ghost, it had left her with no other purpose in her immortal life. Since then, her enemy from so many centuries past, had left his damaged pride behind in favor of the young writer Ash Night. The very Jessica that she'd known of while she was writing her own story.

It was madness. A vampire, to fall in love, and leave behind the wilderness, and the freedom, for an emotion so human…She closed her golden eyes, to erase the hollowness that these thoughts instilled inside her.

"Risika…The Tigress." said a voice. Risika frowned lightly, for she recognized the scent of the speaker. With a hiss, she opened her eyes and gazed at Jozelyn incredulously. _Impossible!_ Her mind screamed. _There is no way Jager would be foolish enough to change the last Scar, when she has been hunted so…_She thought better of it. _What am I kidding, of course he would…_

Jozelyn reacted in her usual attitude toward her prey. She sneered.

Risika composed herself, laughing softly. It was ironic, that Jager's new love interest should approach her the very moment she thought these thoughts. It would have been no stranger than if Ash Night herself had walked up to her.

"Yes, that is I. What of it?" she said.

"My sire sent me…to ask for your aid." It looked as if the mere process of speaking to a vampire, without the eventual intention of killing said vampire, was excruciatingly painful for the young huntress.

Which was rather amusing to Risika. "Jager? Needs my aid? For what, dare I ask…?"

It took a moment for Jozelyn to react to Risika's words. She was busy staring at her illusions, and pondering over all the possible reasons that a vampire would go through such lengths to retain such an elaborate appearance.

Risika smirked. "Does my appearance confuse you Jozelyn?" she asked.

She scowled. "Mildly. I expected you hold it for the purpose of frightening your victims in the moments before you slaughter them."

The Tigress laughed, loudly this time. "A typical guess, I suppose, by a huntress from that particular line. But you're wrong." She reached up and twirled a jet-black strand in her cold, pale fingers. "The stripes and eyes are in memoriam, of a friend of mine, lost to a rival."

"Another leech, who deserved the killing." Jozelyn snapped, tired of the pleasantries. Jager's warning had left her mind.

"On the contrary. She was a Bengal tiger."

The comment was such a foreign idea to Jozelyn that she had to take a few moments to digest the vampire's answer. "I don't believe you." She said at last.

Risika shrugged and stood up. "It makes no difference. What is it that I am to help your sire with?"

But Jozelyn was not finished yet. "It is truly sad. That leeches like you would make up such stories to corrupt the mortal minds of young vampires. I am not so naïve.."

In a moment, Risika was at the younger vampire, her right hand wrapped tightly about her throat and her left pressed deftly against her silent heart. Vampires and humans moved away, such skirmishes common in Las Noches. It was lucky for Jozelyn that all present at Las Noches this night, were younger fledglings, weak, and clueless to the infamous name of Scar, and what her presence at Las Noches meant.

"I could twist your head from its perch, and crush that Scar's heart into oblivion." Said Risika, baring fangs. She looked so inhuman, less than even a vampire should, that even Jozelyn was unnerved by her. "But I chose not to, for though you might not be naïve, you are stupid to the ways of our kind, and what we are capable of in the terms of human emotion, and mercy. I respect Jager too much to kill the one he loves, and so I'll let you live this time, to learn from your mistake, and to maybe finish what you came here to do."

Risika released Jozelyn, and stood back as the younger of the two regained her senses. Her head was reeling, not because of her injured pride, nor the fact that she'd never been over-powered by a vampire before, but because Risika had said that Jager…_loved _her.

"Now. The aid you came to ask for."

Jozelyn stared at her for a moment, before voicing it. "He met a man in the woods…a werewolf hunter, a Velvet. He attacked Jager, and then said some rather…offensive things, and once the man was gone, Jager told me that he was leaving to 'hunt' him. And that I should find you, and ask you to take me to another vampiress, by the name of Acara, a friend of his I could stay with, and who could…train me."

Risika took a moment to stare at Jozelyn after she'd finished speaking, and then erupted in a fit of laughter, cold, yes, but full of true mirth, as if what Jozelyn had said, had been absolutely hilarious.

Jozelyn, her mind still stuck on the idea of Jager being in love with her, frowned deeply at her, confused once again by the sides of these vampires that she had never known existed.

"You don't know who Acara is, do you?" asked the Tigress.

"No." Jozelyn replied simply.

More of that chilling laughter. "Then I suppose you'll find out. And I could accurately guess that Jager didn't warn you about her, did he?" Risika calmed herself, her lips still curled in humor. "He'll be sorry."

"What are you going on about?" snapped Jozelyn, baffled at this point.

The elder vampiress said nothing, and only smiled the smile of someone with holding an inside joke. She held out a hand for Jozelyn, knowing that she would have to transport the huntress, considering Jager had yet to teach her how to do it herself. Reluctantly, Jozelyn took the offered hand.

The setting of Las Noches faded away.

The Scar line is also famous (or would be famous, if any of them had been changed) for the fact that they make extraordinarily powerful vampires. Their blood is almost as magical as a vampires is (without all the necromancy to keep them alive and stuff) so when they are changed, the bloods mix, and instead of the vampire blood killing the witch/hunter blood, the Scar blood remains, giving Jozelyn the lingering scent of her line…unfortunately for her.

This is J_ager's_ opinion. I mean no offense to any practicing Wiccans. I just write the guy, I don't share his ideals.

Jager is referring to the law that no werewolf hunter is allowed to hunt vampires or kill them, and no vampire, is allowed to kill a werewolf hunter…See, werewolves and vampires are at opposite ends of the spectrum, and as Jozelyn was taught, the prey and the hunter are both acquiesced to stay out of business not concerning their worlds. So, Leonius broke an understood law, and Jager intended to kill him in return, thus breaking the other one...democracy is complicated.

This is referring to the law that you can't interfere with another vampire's pursuit of revenge. I think this law was discussed in "Demon In My View" but since I haven't got the book, I can't really be sure of the finer points of it. If the law in that book is in any way unrelated to what I was referring to, then let's just say I made another law up….


	3. The Tigress and the Lady of the Web

_Chapter 2_

**_The Tigress and the Lady of the Web_**

_Darkmount, USA, 2004_

The land spread into the darkness, so thick that even vampiric sight couldn't penetrate it. The moonlight seemed tarnished somewhat, still burning and radiant, yet somehow more primal, more ancient. The kind of moon that Jozelyn imagined drained the sanity from men, leaving even the strongest gibbering in the shadows, never to be the same again. It was eerie. Farther into the horizon, the darkness bucked against the oily sky, and reached to touch the stars. A mountain, she realized.

She saw that Risika was admiring the view as well, her expression bemused again. She was a melancholy creature (and Jozelyn found her terminology even more appropriate in this case) despite her mischievous demeanor. Something about her spoke of eternal sorrow, and damnation where salvation had once been due. It was a depressing atmosphere, though Jozelyn did her best to ignore it. Vampires, while often melancholy and sorrow-laden, were unworthy of pity. That was what she'd been taught.

"Welcome to Darkmount, Jozelyn." Risika stated suddenly. Her voice rang, the thick black air sucking the tones into its depths. The name of the city seemed to echo down the streets, snaking around the ornate, clean little homes like the dark gray mist. It was a dramatic effect.

"I've never heard of it." Jozelyn said in an unusually quite voice…for her at least. Very few of the hidden vampiric cities were left that some Hunting family didn't know about, and hadn't raided. Jozelyn had had even memorized the names of all the still populated cities in both Europe and North America. It was a sadly small list.

"Of course you haven't. It's one of the last still hidden, unknown to anyone." She turned and gave Jozelyn a feral smile. "Save vampires." She added.

Outrage bubbled inside her, and she opened her mouth to form a protest, to say that she shouldn't be so sure that she wasn't going to tell any of her sisters in arms, when she realized that Risika was quite right in her assumption. As she thought of all her sisters and brethren that she had once hunted with, she realized with a pang that each would kill her now, without even glancing backward. Because she _was _a vampire…A sickly guilt rose in her gut. They would also have already ended their damned immortality by now, driving their own dagger, tainted with the blood of hundreds of leeches, into the heart of one last. How selfish was she being, with this will of hers to survive?

Wordlessly, as if Risika saw the thoughts in Jozelyn's eyes (which, Jozelyn reminded herself, she probably could) the Tigress turned and began walking down the mist-covered streets. Following the gold-and-shadow beacon of Risika's hair, Jozelyn followed, decidedly more subdued.

They walked in such utter silence, that it made Jozelyn a little uncomfortable. It seemed…unnatural that the night was this quiet. Usually something moved, made some sort of noise. There was always the wind, insects, _something_. The world grew and moved at all hours of the day, in all places of the world…at least she thought. Even the other vampire cities Jozelyn had visited weren't this quiet. It was as if this portion of reality, was as dead as its inhabitants. Even with eighteen years experience in the world of strange and horrifying occurrences…this sent a cold shiver down Jozelyn's spine.

"We're here," Risika said. Jozelyn noted with some satisfaction that the scent of fear in the air was not completely her own. New Mayhem vampires were as unused to this type of deadness as she was.

They stood in front of an oak door, its dark wooden color muffled and dull in the light of the ancient moon and mist that engulfed everything. An old bronze plate adorned the center of the door, decorated with an intricate web with a small spider in its center. Very strange.

Risika noted the plate and took a deep breath. She knocked three times, and stepped back. Jozelyn was curious about what could be behind that door that would make the Tigress nervous. As the door opened, she found out what.

A tall man stood in the entryway, dark, rusty-brown-red hair sticking up in random spikes on his head from what was obviously a very haphazard haircut. His eyes were a dead, yet expressive black. He looked at Risika in astonishment, his features soft, yet angled. Jozelyn figured that he would be good-looking if one liked his type…and if he hadn't been undead.

"Risika…" he said, in what was probably a greeting.

Risika shifted as slightly as she dared, then flashed him a smile, to which he returned happily. "Hale." She said.

Jozelyn looked from one to the other, chewing on the inside of her lip in growing annoyance. Risika had quite obviously forgotten her existence. "Ahem." She said superiorly. Not that this display of attraction from beyond the grave wasn't terribly interesting, but there was mortality to regain and sires to reap her revenge upon…didn't Risika _know_ that?

Risika looked at her as the huntress raised an auburn eyebrow. She then returned to Hale, nodding pointedly to the room behind him. He jumped, having been occupied with staring fondly at her, and stepped aside for them to enter. Either he ignored Risika's companion, or just plain didn't notice her wasn't possible to tell. He walked behind a long, equally oak bar and motioned for Risika to take a seat on the old, apparently hand-carved stools in front of it. She smiled at him politely and perched on top of the bar. Hale smiled back, looking up at her hungrily.

"It's been a long time, Hale. Darkmount hasn't changed, but your haircut certainly has." Risika commented casually, plucking a small ornate bottle from behind the counter. Her hand was very close to Hale, and he didn't move. Nor did she seem to notice as her hand and the bottle brushed high against his thigh.

"Speak for yourself, Risika." Hale said smiling. "Last time I saw you, you still sat in chairs. And," He fingered her tiger stripes. "You were still a blonde." His fingers brushed her cheek and she discreetly leaned into his touch. As he dropped his hand, his black eyes danced.

"Things happen in twenty years." She said, very quietly.

"Things happen in thirty…" he muttered, and before she could comment, he went on. "What brings you back, Risika?"

The Tigress tilted her head in Jozelyn's direction, of whom was leaning against the far wall, displaying her boredom with vigor. Hale narrowed his eyes, studying her. Suddenly, he gasped.

Risika laughed. "Recognize her do you?"

"She looks just like Symia, and you knew I would." He frowned at her. "Do I really want to know why she smells like Jager?"

"I think you could guess." She said, golden eyes glittering with humor.

"Certainly he wouldn't be that stupid…" Hale said. Considering Jager's reputation, Hale was obviously a friend of his to speak of him so bluntly.

"It's Jager, Hale." Risika said, which apparently explained the entire situation, for Hale nodded, looking resolved.

"I knew he was going to get himself into trouble one of these days…"

Jozelyn fumed. She was thoroughly tired of people seeming to know so much about her…some of them, even more than she knew about herself.

Hale turned back to Risika. "Is that why she's with you? Jager off trying to take care of the mob of blood lusting revenge-seeking undead, that are probably tracking her down at this very minute?"

Risika chuckled, seeing it as a very possible scenario, if not an amusing one. "Something like that. I'm supposed to take her to Acara."

Hale stared, and once again, Jozelyn wondered fiercely where all these unknown, yet apparently popular vampires were coming from, and what this inside joke was with Acara.

"I knew it." Hale said at last.

Risika looked curious. "Knew what?" she asked.

"That Jager is stark mad. Almost as mad that Irish witch herself!"

"Hale." The Tigress gave him a disapproving frown, as well as raising a honey-colored eyebrow. "Just because you've had some unpleasant experiences…"

"She straddled me Risika! She put that damn leather collar on me with the metal spikes, and I had to _walk around_ with it on, because I couldn't figure out how to take it _off_! Who _does_ that, Risika? And she's a _vampire_. What purpose could she have by pouncing on people and putting collars on them? People have fetishes but that's _ridiculous_."

Risika laughed. "As I recall, she did that because you insulted her. And _she_ was wearing the collar in first place."

"That's why I insulted her." He smiled. "I called her a crazy Irish bitch."

"Racist."

"She really is crazy."

"Because she called you a bitch once the collar was on you?"

"Because she licked me, once the collar was on me."

Risika burst into laughter. "And that's precisely why I'm so fond of her." She looked at Hale wistfully. "She's knows how to treat men."

The smile faded and Hale's expression became serious.

Jozelyn restrained a gag. "Ahem, excuse me." She said, speaking for the first time. "Sorry to interrupt the Kodak moment, but," she tapped her wrist, which clearly bore no watch. "Death is fleeting."

Risika frowned at her, rapping sharp nails beside her on the bar. With a flip of her hair, she looked at Hale, completely ignoring his expression. She didn't have Kodak moments. Whatever existed between her and Hale thirty years ago, was apparently not on her agenda anymore. "So," she said, pretending momentarily that Jozelyn wasn't in the room. Despite refusing to rekindle whatever happened between the two vampires, Risika still preferred her privacy. "The _whereabouts_ of Acara…?"

Hale smiled up at her, trying to hide the hurt in his eyes. "Eager to get rid of Buffy, huh?" he said, in forced good humor. "Well, I know she's still in Darkmount…but this is a big city, relatively. Rata and Tarule would know, but they're usually…disagreeable with anyone but Acara herself. Your best bet would be…" he nodded toward the back of the room, past an assortment of small round tables, at a door, outlined against the wall by amber light.

"Ah." Said Risika, sighing. She shook herself out of it and gave Jozelyn a look with randomly glittering eyes. Another inside joke. "Good luck Jozelyn." She leapt from her perch, fingers brushing Hale's hunter-green shirt, as if that was her goodbye to him.

"What?" Jozelyn asked mutely.

"You can ask Arachne where Acara is living these days, and as far as I'm concerned, I'm done with the entire deal." She smiled at her. "Tell Jager when you see him that I said 'good luck'." She walked past Jozelyn and disappeared through the door. Boiling with rage, Jozelyn pushed herself away from the wall she was leaning against and followed her, expression savage. She was in time to see Risika walk a few more feet away from the bar and vanish into thin air.

Sulking, Jozelyn returned to the incense filled room, looking at Hale apprehensively. He returned the look, then shrugged.

"Arachne owns this bar," he said, nodding toward the amber-lined door. "She's a friend of Acara's from a long time ago. Um…if you need to find where she is…Arachne would know." He wasn't quite sure what to say to Jozelyn, and she felt an impulsive urge to backhand him. She discarded the idea quickly though. His hair was messy enough as it was.

"Do I knock or just go in?" she asked harshly, trying to leak a little cockiness into her speech.

He raised his eyebrows, unperturbed. "Knock, of course. I imagine she'd kill you if you went in unannounced. She's a painter…she doesn't like interruptions." He spoke as if Jozelyn should have known these things without asking, and she bit down hard on the inside of her mouth to keep from saying anything. _Death is fleeting_, she reminded herself, and turned, marching purposefully toward the door. She slowed as she neared it and, aware of Hale's vampiric gaze on her back, raised her hand and rapped sharply on the door. Three times.

"Enter," said a faint, distracted voice from inside. Refusing to look behind her at Hale, Jozelyn went in quietly, closing the door firmly behind her.

It looked as if an entire home was connected to the little oak bar behind her, for the room she was in flayed out before her, warm, golden light bathing every corner, a strike contrast to the eerie darkness outside. Old fashioned and comfortable-looking loveseats and armchairs were scattered around a fireplace that put out the amber light (in a rather unusual quantity) and the other side of the room, which was apparently some sort of den, was cluttered with an assortment of art supplies. Oils, watercolors, brushes, canvas, and easels were scattered all over the space, and in the midst of it, and beautiful woman with a sort of Victorian beauty stood before an almost-finished painting, her black eyes narrowed in concentration, and her golden curls piled messily on top of her head in something like a bun with hair sticks protruding defiantly from it. A smudge of cerulean paint stained her ivory skin, from her nose across her cheek, which only managed to make her look more stunning. She wore a loose white robe covered in paint stains that bore a good deal of her chest, shoulders, and back. At the base of her neck, she had an enormous black and red tribal spider tattoo. She made a final adjustment to the painting with the brush in her hand, and set her supplies down. Only then did she turn to a slightly slack-jawed Jozelyn.

"Well?" she asked. "Who are you?"

Jozelyn shook herself. "My name is Jozelyn." She left out her last name, considering it was never wise for one of her kind to reveal it to a vampire, and she'd witnessed enough fuss over it already.

"Ah. I notice you have Jager's scent about you." She had a slight accent, though Jozelyn had never heard it before.

She scowled. "He's my…ah," she trailed off, distracted by the painting that Arachne had been occupied with.

It was a gorgeous white wolf, its plumed tail poised high in the air it as it pounced upon mice in emerald green grass. The sun shown eerily reddish-amber high in the sky, as if Arachne couldn't quite recall the look of the sun well enough to paint it. The sky was so vividly blue that Jozelyn found herself liking the world of the painting better than the sun and sky of her own homeland.

"I believe the word 'sire' is what you're looking for dear." Arachne said, her tone slightly amused. She took a piece of black cloth and draped it over the canvas. "It's for a friend of mine."

"Ah." Jozelyn said again.

Arachne took the sticks from her hair and it tumbled down over her shoulders in stunning waves. "Don't just stand there like a fool. Hale wouldn't have allowed you to disturb me, had you not had some point." She gave Jozelyn a meaningful look. She was the only one so far that hadn't had a peculiar reaction to her, but somehow, she seemed beyond surprise or undignified behavior. Jozelyn thought she would have liked her, had she not been a vampire.

"Jager sent me to meet with a vampiress named Acara." She wrinkled her nose. "I seem to be having more luck finding _other_ vampires, than I am with finding her."

Arachne's amused look intensified. "She's lived here half a century; I can't see why someone had to send you to me in order to locate her."

"I couldn't see it either," Jozelyn muttered.

Arachne ignored her. "There's a street at the end of this block that goes west. Follow it to the graveyard; Acara lives strait across from it. You should be able to see the church from a long way off."

"Church?" asked Jozelyn, taken aback. Vampires had churches?

Arachne smiled. "This town didn't always belong to vampires. We only expanded and spelled it. Some of the old buildings are still around…although," the smile grew sinister. "they are appropriate décor, for a town of the undead."

Puzzled, Jozelyn nodded. She hesitated. Arachne was just as much a vampire as any of the others she'd met and/or killed…should she display the same attitude toward her?

"Um…thank you." She said, the situation feeling completely foreign.

Arachne tilted her head in acknowledgment. "Tell Acara I've finished her painting. Good-bye." She smirked. "And good luck."

Feeling ruffled Jozelyn stared at her. Arachne looked back expectantly. Frowning deeply, she turned and exited, ignoring Hale's curious look. The bar had acquired a few vampires randomly seated about the place, sipping their drinks in comfortable silence. The bar looked more like a café, for it was exceedingly mellow, as if one could plainly relax, despite the murder and mayhem they managed to cause on a nightly basis. Jozelyn scowled, and exited quickly, figuring the feeling was only because of the heavy incense. She hated the stuff.

It was even more uncomfortable walking the streets without Risika, which was annoying to say the least. She walked with her hand shoved deep into her pockets, acutely aware of how her sweater didn't smell quite so good as it had when she'd left her house three days ago to do research on her family's arch nemesis, at the risk of sounding like a bad comic book.

The air was cold, even to already icy skin, and she shivered, knowing that this city wasn't built by human hands…nor wholly by vampiric ones. She stopped, looking up at a brass sign that adorned the cross-section she stood at..

"_Amentes Essentia."_

_"The Essence of Lunatics_."

"What kind of a name is that for a street?" Jozelyn asked the city in general. Nothing answered, but she almost got a distinct feeling of amusement from the very atmosphere. Chilled, she turned onto the street and began to walk, albeit at a far more hurried pace then before.

In the distance, a large monument loomed darker then the thick nothing that made up the air of Darkmount. Jozelyn was relieved, because she knew this had to be the church for what appeared to be a cross was perched atop the building. It was only when she got closer that she realized that, though it was indeed a cross, it was inverted, and it looked like it had been made that way.

The church was painted not black, but red, and when she neared it, Jozelyn almost cried out in surprise, because the reddish-brown paint was blood, gallons and gallons of sacrificed blood, coating a Church of Satan. It was so old the smell was ancient, and no longer rotten, or fresh enough to inspire bloodlust, but still so blatantly reminiscent of death, that this part of the city crawled with it, living, and dead, at the same time. Jozelyn felt true fear of Necromancy for the first time in her life, because she knew now that necromancers were the first owners of this town, and it was them that had sucked the life and light from the city. If ever there was an evil greater then that of vampires and werewolves, and other spawn of darkness, it was the evil that had created this church.

She stopped, and dry-retched, knowing that the blood of her meal so long ago would not come up, and that even this simple, fruitless action would only make her even weaker, hungrier, more ravenous, like the aura of the church that reached out to her, demanding the evil to show itself as it had in the London jail, preparing to feed off the impurity of her soul.

After the spell of revulsion passed, Jozelyn approached cautiously, taking such tentative steps that she herself couldn't hear them. At this angle, she saw a huge necropolis on the other side of the church, massive headstones and monuments rising into the misty abyss, tiers and weeping angels reaching toward the distant stars with agonized, stony fingers. Directly across from it, a massive, dark-colored house stared out with blank reflective windows for eyes, and broken ancient teeth as steps leading to the even darker door. The colors were indistinguishable at this particular hour, but Jozelyn was relieved to know that they weren't black nor red, though she'd never felt such disgust toward her favorite color.

She walked the silver stepping stones to the front door (which was a navy color this close up) and grasped the wolf's head knocker, and let it fall back onto the door, the sound echoing through the street. Almost immediately, a young man answered the door, his hair white-blonde with blue tips. He was ashen, but Jozelyn could tell he was merely blood-bonded and that he was not a vampire. He glared at Jozelyn with equally blue eyes. He wore what was relatively normal clothes, a black long-sleeved shirt with what might have been _Slipknot_ written in red across the front, and some worn and baggy jeans. He also wore a black studded collar around his neck.

"What?" he snapped.

Jozelyn became indignant. "Do you always answer the door like that? This is a vampire city buddy, its not that wise…" she said sourly.

"Hmph." He replied. "I'm answering the door for _Acara_. If they expect anything different, they can go to another house. As you can." And he made as if to slam the door in her face, but her shoe stopped it as well as an iron bar would have.

"That's rude." She said.

He let go of the door and stood back, crossing his arms sulkily. "Ok, fine, what the hell do you want?"

"Acara."

The corner of his mouth quirked. "Well, I knew she was into some pretty kinky stuff…" he adjusted his collar unconsciously, "But that was beyond my knowledge."

Jozelyn was puzzled for a moment before she grasped what he was insinuating. "Ew." She said, giving him a revolted look. "I meant I want to talk to her, you sick little ingrate."

The butler, or _whatever the hell he was_ (Jozelyn thought subconsciously) merely laughed and shrugged. "She went out to the graveyard last I saw. She makes rubbings from the headstones."

Jozelyn looked over her shoulder at the vast ancient cemetery and thought that "graveyard" was the simplest term to be used for it. "Ok…" she answered, sighing. _What a night…_

"Good, now if you'd be so kind…" the young man slammed the door, and Jozelyn sneered at it, trying to decide whether to go inside and injure him severely (she couldn't rightly kill him, what with his being relatively human) or knocking down the door (or something else scarily vampiric to strike fear in the heart of this insolent mortal…which, she decided, sounded too Bram Stoker) but she opted for finding Acara at long last, just to get this over with.

Averting her eyes deliberately from the macabre house of worship, Jozelyn approached the massive wrought iron gates with no shortage of misgiving. She _should _just up and leave this place, teach herself how to use vampiric power, _screw Jager's advice, command, whatever this _goose chase_ was started by_ but something seemed just wrong about that, some natural, primal thing that she feared to disobey, just as she feared letting a vampire escape her when she had a blade in her hand, and that turned her thoughts away from giving up; she begrudgingly opened the gates and stepped into the mist coated,hallowed land.

She had to admit, if one was on a history trip, or just a natural tourist, this place was definitely one to spark some interest. The great tombs and graves dated as far back as the 16th century, and she was sure if she explored more, she would find some even older then that. It was a virtual labyrinth of landmarks for the dead, and this was one of the very few places Jozelyn had ever been that intimidated her this much (the other actually, and conveniently, being a hedge maze that her Aunt had on her property, to which she had become utterly and terrifyingly lost in when she was very young).

_Ferdinand of the Moonstone Order _read one vast tombstone, which might have been made of the very material of his 'order'; it was followed by what looked like a Latin verse. Her eyes flicked toward the shadow that was the church for a moment before moving deeper into the necropolis, forming an unpleasant theory about the occupant of the grave. One problem with those pesky raisers-of-the-dead…they tended to raise themselves. The idea that if he hadn't by now, he probably wasn't going to never passed through her mind, though not for a moment did she believe she was being irrational. Because she wasn't.

It was odd, for monuments of angels adorned this place as frequently as the stones baring the material of the necromantic orders, and they were much newer looking then these. It was odd, in the fact that the names the angels bore, were sometimes singular, with no surname. And that she _recognized _some of them. She suddenly wished Jager hadn't made her drop her book of names and biographies.

But a _vampire_ graveyard? She'd never _heard_ of such a thing…

A sound behind her made her whirl, fingers reaching for weapons that were, once again, nowhere to be found. The sound of sensuous laughter drifted from all directions at once, and Jozelyn found herself thoroughly annoyed with the persistent mist that seemed to be _everywhere_. She fought off dizziness as she turned in circles a few times, before she realized that the origin of the sound wasn't going to be located by that means. She stopped; maddeningly weary of the general unpleasantness of the night.

"_Jager's_ new pet. How _fun_." The voice said, silky and accented, yet almost distant. Though Jozelyn disliked it immediately, she sensed something deeper to the mischievous and half-delirious air of it…something like loneliness, and need.

"Acara?" Jozelyn asked, too tired to be annoyed, or angry.

"Of course." She said, materializing from the darkness, trailing black painted fingernails across the pallid robes of a praying saint. Jozelyn didn't really know what she was expecting, but the image Acara made was definitely not it.

Maybe from Hale's brief ranting of a "crazy Irish witch" she had pictured a woman with wide mad black eyes, and wild knotted red hair, stereotypical for one originating from Ireland. Maybe even with a weird fetish for dog-collars, considering the door-man attire and Hale's account. But the woman (or girl, since she appeared as old as Jozelyn, though with vampires, did titles really count that way?) was tall, and poised, with ivory skin and lidded, wise eyes, with something akin to innocence deep within them. Her hair fell to her waist, razor-strait and jet-black. The Irish lilt only made the vision over, and Jozelyn guessed that the only thing she had imagined right was her fetish for dog-collars. She wore one, above her black tank which dipped hazardously down her chest, and regular black cargoes. A number of bracelets decorated her arms.

"What of it?" she asked, dropped the silky air for a conversational one, which was _still_ mysterious, if just because of her accent.

"Jager sent me to find you." She ignored the monotony in her voice, considering she'd told _too_ many people that tonight (contrary to the fact it was only two or three, but that really wasn't the point).

"He did." Acara replied flatly, it obviously not being a question. Awkward silence followed, and Jozelyn saw in the vampiress's expression that she wanted her to go on.

Exasperated, she did. "Somebody rattled him tonight. A random stranger that seemed to know me. He went 'hunting' whatever that means, and I've spent this entire night running over two vampire cities trying to find either him, or you, and it'd be really nice if I got some answers sometime soon, cause my patience only goes so far—"

She stopped and panted.

Acara was smiling now, her lips curling up at the corners. "Well…I'd hate to disappoint you, but you'll have to wait," her smile widened. "and be patient. _I'm_ not your sire after all. Just your baby-sitter."

She swept past the fuming and spluttering Jozelyn and made her way out of the cemetery, leather boots moving silently over the misty ground. It seemed to part for her, which only succeeded in making the red-haired Scar even angrier.

"You haven't fed, have you?" Acara asked distractedly, as if it didn't really matter, but she could carry on a conversation and observe that terribly interesting old tomb at the same time.

"What?" she asked blankly.

"Very silly. No wonder you're tired. I hope Talon wasn't too rude to you, he doesn't like my company all that well. They always try to _bite_ him." She laughed, and Jozelyn marveled had how she seemed to be talking to herself, and not to her at all, and even _preferring_ it. No one had ever spoken to her like that. "He's a one-vampire man, that one."

They were at the door, and she opened it without knocking, walking in briskly, this time making noise. But it seemed that she _could_ have been silent, had she chosen to. Talon rushed toward her from somewhere, blue eyes wide with puppy-dog admiration, delivering some news of a sort.

"Listen, this is all interesting, but I think I've got a better shot finding Jager…" Jozelyn said, eyeing the pair with misgiving. _Finding Jager and beating him into a blood pulp for sending me to this mad house, sire or not_, she added to herself. But when she turned, the door slammed shut quite firmly in her face. Her ears rang, and she paused in shock for a moment, noting how her hair had flown back with the force of it, and how she could _almost_ feel the wood against the tip of her nose.

"I'm afraid not, my little Scar." Acara's voice said, and in her mind's eye, she saw her still facing Talon, having closed the door while he was still talking to her. Her voice was even still distracted, her mind somewhere else. "Your room will be on the second floor, two rooms down the hall on the right. Run along now. The sun will be up soon. You'd want at least a little rest if we're to go hunting tomorrow night."

"Wha—," she started, spinning around to protest.

"Suicidal little minx isn't she?" Acara was asking Talon, who seemed to be used to his Mistress. He smirked in her direction, before pitting his attention raptly on Acara. "Now, go on…"

"Yeah, _Jager _dropped by, while you were gone, you'd _love_ what he had to say…"


End file.
